Hot

(Found at school.discovery.com/ clipart/clip/hotstuff.html)

When I was invited to move to the Southwest, I knew it would be very hot down here. It was the one thing that I dreaded most--the pollution, gangs, crime, huge population, earthquakes, fires, mudslides, and smog notwithstanding. I get really cranky when it's hot outside because I was made for life in Minnesota or the Adirondacks. It was 101 degrees Farenheit today. Nothing could lure me outside, and I stayed in, grateful for air conditioning.

Late this afternoon the gardener came to work in the yard. Using a leaf blower, he blew clouds of dust into the air around the back of the house, clearing long accumulated refuse into one place. A few minutes later, the air coming out of our air vents started getting considerably warmer. Soon it was 82 degrees in the house and we were getting lethargic and very uncomfortable. Of course, the air and refrigeration people are backlogged and we don't know when they'll get to us. So here we sit with fans whirring and the house temperature in the 80s.

It is at times like this that I wonder how the pioneers ever survived life in the West without the conveniences of modern life. They lived in adobe homes, close to the ground, with large verandas and palm trees planted as close to the homes as possible in order to provide shade. The heat must have been atrocious. All I can think of is how horrible it would have been to be pregnant or be ill in the summer.

Our night air is mercifully cooler than the day, for which we are eternally grateful! We will open up the house tonight, blow out the hot air with fans and then close everything up in the morning--curtains and blinds drawn, fans whirring all day. Perhaps the repairmen can get here in the next couple days. I think we will visit our friends across town tomorrow...

Psychological snake oil

I remember what happened when I decided to take a master's degree in counseling. Some of my conservative Christian friends were alarmed and told me they'd be praying for me. Others asked if I knew of some obscure prayer-filled, scripture verse reciting method of counseling--that sounded to me to be more like a exegetical study than psychological healing. One woman shook her head sadly and told me that she believed that I'd lose my way, spiritually. Pretty soon, she said, I'd get my ears pierced, stop returning tithe to God, and then it would be downhill on ice all the way to the hot place (I never understood that...).

I went into my master's studies quite fearful that I was going to learn a bunch of hocus-pocus for infidels that would do little more than entertain the idle rich. My family is the sort that needs to have a product for the work they do: a lesson plan delivered, a hardwood floor laid, a patient washed and given medications, or a quilt made. When I announced to them that I would be studying to be a therapist, it was mostly blank confused looks that I got. "But what will you actually do?" they asked. "Who is going to pay you for listening to them? I just can't see that." I wasn't sure, but people were doing it all over the world and there must be more to it than just listening.

Three years later, I was a new counselor. One of my friends, an internist, told me about mutual friends who had gone to see a counselor to save their marriage. "I was shocked!" she exclaimed. "That stuff actually works!" I'm afraid I smirked then. And you've acted superior and scorned my career choice for three years! She thought it was all hooey.

Therapy is an art, based on science. Sometimes it is slow going and it looks and feels as though nothing is happening. There are sessions when I look at my clients and wonder if I should take money for what happened or didn't happen in the room that day. But almost imperceptibly, something begins to shift for them, and they begin to change and report very interesting growth and new perspectives. Sometimes it happens when we can see it, bring it out in the open and explore what it means to have these changes. Other times, it comes out when I'm not around and there is no way to know that anything happened. One must believe in the value of the process--change happens, as well as growth, in our subconscious, when we're busy with our lives.

This intangibility was very difficult for me as a new therapist. In fact, I'd say that only in the last four years has my faith in good therapy become solidified.
So tonight, when I happened across a wonderful blog entry by Irene*Unraveled, I realized that skeptics are of every stripe, and therapy can help anyway. Next time you feel like blowing off therapists as snake oil peddlers, pause.

Near Fatality at Sin City

We have arrived in our new city and are now working at getting our millions of boxes emptied and put into some semblance of order. It is a frustrating and exhausting business, this.

We almost lost Otis on our journey. Our car thermostat went out just as we were driving into Las Vegas in 108 degree heat. I thought we'd hit the gateway to hell for more than one reason. We pulled off the road into the shade of some sort of palm tree by a service station, opened the windows and fanned Otis to keep him cool. Seeing his little panicked face and hearing him cry while he panted, was enough to do me in. After about 15 minutes of this unbearable heat, I grabbed him up and ran into a hotel lobby with him. Although we were all horribly shaken by the car breakdown and heat, all ended well. By evening, Otis was playing with a string on our hotel bed, and we had arrangements to repair the car.

I feel very fortunate to have arrived in our new home. Although it is a temporary home, it feels good to be settling in. Work starts on July 3rd. Let's see how it feels then!

Another Time Out

If you read this blog, you've noticed that I've not written very often recently. That is because we are moving our household to another state next week and have been packing. And I've been grading final papers.
It seems that a time out will be a good thing until we've relocated completely.
Come back in July--I'll be here and hoping to hear from you again.

Goodbye, Jon

Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord from now on." "Yes," says the Spirit, "they will rest from their labor, for their deeds will follow them" (Revelation 13:14)

When I lived in Minnesota, a man and his wife in a church that I was visiting, invited me home for lunch after the service. They must have recognized that "I'm lost and alone, please be my friend" look I probably had, and they took me in. Jon and Colleen lived way out in the country, and had a beautiful red barn that had been used in a butter commercial. It was the most picturesque, lovely old thing and was a shiny red. Jon and Colleen's house was over a hundred years old, and they had lived in it for a long time. I immediately felt at home there, and wished I had been able to spend time sitting on their front porch more often during my Minnesota sojourn.
Jon and Colleen invited me over several times, and when Sam and I got married and returned to Minnesota, they invited us over. When they visited Indianapolis, they invited me to join them for a potluck at their son's house. They could not have been kinder to me.
I really like both Jon and Colleen, but Jon got into the cockles of my heart. Jon was a very kind, generous man. He was quick to tear up and reach for someone to hug. He had the most twinkly eyes and hearty laugh that made me want to tell him jokes and be witty just to hear him wheeze and laugh. Once during a sermon that went on and on, we were almost in tears from laughing on the sly. The pastor had exhausted nearly all the texts on a particular topic and suddenly, as our stomachs began to growl for lunch, he started in on another long list of texts. Colleen later said that we shouldn't sit together because we were a lethal duo.

I probably only spent time with Jon and Colleen six or seven times, but they were always welcoming and eager to spend more time with me. A few months ago I learned that Jon had just been diagnosed with advanced liver cancer. I sent him a card telling him that I was praying for him and fervently hoped that he wasn't suffering.

Today I found out that Jon died a couple days ago. His funeral is in two days. The picture that I was sent in his death announcement showed him wearing a hat over what I suppose was a head bald from chemotherapy, and with his arms around his two sisters, and a very broad grin on his thinning face. He was wan but happy and full of life.

The Bible says that those who "die in the Lord" are asleep until the resurrection. That comforts me tremendously at times like this. I know I will see Jon again. Jon and Colleen, one of the most loving and in love couples I've ever met, will again be reunited, to love again forever and ever. I believe that Jon will spend eternity making others happy, just as he did here.

Sweet rest, my friend. I hope the Day comes soon.

Peace in the Uproar

Today is the Sabbath.
I don't know how people manage to survive week after week, month after month, without having a regularly scheduled day to relax, guilt free. As I look around my box-filled livingroom, red tape garishly slapped over the edge of boxes containing fragile items in them, it's a pleasure just to sit and relax. No packing today, no bother with what to clean next, which papers to start to grade, what project we need to get done before we move in two weeks. Just quiet and rest today.
Last night Sam and I were able to lie in bed and read together, then talk into the night, undisturbed by television or radio. It was quiet and pleasant, with the windows open and rain-drenched breezes wafting through the upstairs.
As I write this morning, Sara Groves' voice fills the house and my heart is once again at peace and reaching for God.

That's what the Sabbath is: a gift of time, rest, and peace.

Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy. Six days you shall labor, and do all your work, 10but the seventh day is a Sabbath to the LORD your God. On it you shall not do any work, you, or your son, or your daughter, your male servant, or your female servant, or your livestock, or the sojourner who is within your gates. For in six days the LORD made heaven and earth, the sea, and all that is in them, and rested the seventh day. Therefore the LORD blessed the Sabbath day and made it holy. (Exodus 20:8-11)

Sounds

A hollow of shrill schreeping—crucifix peepers
—my father showed me one May evening in the bog near our house;
A wisp of a black cross over an amphibious back.
Treble waves of a screechity-sweet chorus
rings in my ears as I walk in the dusk tonight.

A wind eddy of leaf skeletons—swirling, rustling at my feet;
Somnolent dueling cicadas overhead in the catalpa tree.
Swooping tuxedoed barn swallow’s whirring wings into barn branches;
Muted popping of cornstalks reaching upward in the paralyzing August night heat;
The wheezy, whiffling snore of a fat black cat on the foot of the bed.

These he no longer hears—my father—
with beige hardware writhing into both ears;
no longer privy to understatement and background.
Life strikes his ears with blunt force, sometimes oversized
in a plastic sort of way.

Have I been mindful enough to savor and memorize
So that when my ears are impervious, like my father’s,
This heavy summer night air can draw me back to a time
when the voiceless murmur of one sleeping against my neck
was louder than the entire world?

Goodnight, Jim.

Tonight I was given the very sad news that my friend and mentor, Jim, died earlier in the week. When I got the call, there were so many images that filled my mind. And now, while I should really be asleep in bed, I can't stop thinking about him.

I first got acquainted with Jim when I was a therapist intern, learning how to do therapy after obtaining a master's degree in counseling. Jim is the consumate professional, and was an excellent model for a novice like me. He was absolutely unflappable, regardless of patients with eratic behavior, threats by grandiose narcissists, or despondent individuals threatening to kill themselves. Jim always knew exactly what to do and had a wonderful way of talking with patients until they actually wanted to make good choices.

Jim was from West Virginia. I have known few men who could come close to his quiet, genteel ways. His slow drawl and twinkly eyes could both sooth and motivate. And I loved to make him laugh during our supervision hour. He made this funny inhaling sound like a seal when he laughed--very loudly--that made everyone nearby laugh just to hear him.

When, as a new therapist, I was invited to the position of a director of a counseling service, a group of psychologists with whom I worked decided that they should have the position. They actively lobbied the administrators who hired me to hire them instead. Jim was the only colleague who stood behind me and opposed them. He had faith in me, but he also would not tolerate violations of integrity in either personal or professional life. Because of his support, I held a terrific position for three years under his supervision, and obtained excellent training in administration and therapy services.

The last time I saw Jim, I was interviewing for my job at the university where he teaches. He didn't see me, and I decided not to make myself known at that time. I thought I would just invite him and his wife over for dinner after we had moved and gotten settled into his town. He would be able to finally meet the wonderful man I married. Sadly, this can never be.

I keep thinking that if I could just frame a lofty enough commentary about Jim and my experience of him, that I will stop feeling bereft. But alas, this is not true. Jim has died, and I will miss him terribly.

Brothers, we do not want you to be ignorant about those who fall asleep, or to grieve like the rest of men, who have no hope. We believe that Jesus died and rose again and so we believe that God will bring with Jesus those who have fallen asleep in him. According to the Lord's own word, we tell you that we who are still alive, who are left till the coming of the Lord, will certainly not precede those who have fallen asleep. For the Lord himself will come down from heaven, with a loud command, with the voice of the archangel and with the trumpet call of God, and the dead in Christ will rise first. After that, we who are still alive and are left will be caught up together with them in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And so we will be with the Lord forever. Therefore encourage each other with these words. (1 Thessalonians 4:13-18).

Good night, my dear friend. I'll see you in the morning.

He is Faithful

(You can read more about this coin here)

In my Bible study this morning, I was reading the parable of the vineyard owner who went into the village to find workers to go to work for him (Matthew 20:1-16). Some were called to work at 6:00, some at 9:00, 12:00 and finally, some at 4:00 p.m. Those who know this story will remember that everyone got paid the same thing--a denarius. A day's wage, whether they worked for a day or an hour.

The Kingdom of Heaven has different rules than we earthlings have. What is fair is a matter of perspective, apparently. God reserves the right to be generous at times by giving people more than they deserve, and at other times, allowing the results of their actions to play out--just what they deserve by earthly standards.

In thinking about this parable and how it applies to my life, I realized that it is easy for me to feel envious of people who serve God in the same way that I do, with similar fervor and enthusiasm, and who have received more from God's hand than I have, materially speaking. This is true, sadly enough, even though I have received tremendous blessings from God in terms of spiritual vigor and more than my share of energy, creativity, optimism, and happiness. Intelligence and persistence are other gifts that I would not trade for anything. But touch my wallet, and I begin to think that others who have an easier life than I do, must be spiritually inferior in some way, or that God has been unfair to me. And that is faulty thinking.

As far as I can tell, God has promised us just what we need for today--not all that we need for tomorrow, or next week, or next year. Just for today. And today I have all that I need and plenty more.

When I went back to school for my PhD, I moved across the country to a place where I didn't know anyone, didn't have a job, and had very little money. I had a job in a week, which meant that I had a week to unpack my belongings and make my apartment comfortable. Typical of new jobs however, I didn't get paid for two weeks. I can remember having enough money to buy a few groceries. For two weeks I ate oatmeal for breakfast and had spaghetti with green peas and parmesan cheese in it. And I was as happy as a lark (and dropped off some weight that needed to come off!) I had everything that I needed. I even had a dime in my wallet--no more, no less. But I didn't need anything beside what I already had. I was as blessed as those who had all sorts of other things besides what they needed. I had no reason to complain.

Today I'm thinking about how grateful I am for a God who has given me all that I need, and whose promise for the things of life are good, just for today.

Great is Thy faithfulness,Great is Thy faithfulness,

Morning by morning new mercies I see:

All I have needed Thy hand hath provided;

Great is Thy faithfulness, Lord unto me!

Great is Thy Faithfulness

Finally, a Home

The last two days have been full of mounting consternation for my husband and me. The moving company continues to ask where they are to deliver our household goods, and we haven't had a destination. Real estate costs are out of sight where we're moving, and we haven't been sure what we'd do. We've looked at condominiums and houses 25 miles away from where we'll be working, just to find something affordable. We finally located a surprisingly spacious condo for a half-way affordable rent. I asked the man to describe, among other things, what one sees when looking out the front door. He said a bit proudly, I thought, "You look right out onto the front doors of Walmart." End of story.

The last two days I've had a very heavy heart, reminding God that He owns the cattle on a thousand hills (Psalm 50:10), and that a home for us should not be a big issue for Him. I even gave up the idea of having a yard of my own to work in, garden space for my personal therapy, or even how badly I want an apricot tree and space in the yard to entertain. Being like Abraham and setting out for a destination yet unknown has not been something I've liked to think about, but we have been close to that.
Today I received an email out of the blue, from a colleague's sister who lives in our new city. She offered a rental home to us within our price range, and that is much lower than area costs. She apologized that it has a home office in the garage (how many weeks have we looked for a place where I can have a home office?!), and that the gazebo around the (working) jacuzzi in the back yard needs repairs and that they're tearing out a tree on the side lawn and I'd be welcome to put a garden there if I was so inclined. However, she pointed out, there are four bedrooms and the living area is perfect for entertaining (what about my repeated requests to God for a place to bring home colleagues and students?!) In addition, the apricots and apples on the trees in the back yard would be in season when we arrive. The persimmons and tangerines and limes would come on a bit later in the season. It has a very large yard for that particular area, and the back is full of mature trees. I will have my trees and a place for my birdfeeder! It won't be like living in the desert! It is in a lovely, safe neighborhood and is only two miles from our jobs.
Yes, it is a small home, but it is perfect for us in so many ways.

God truly gives us exceedingly more than we think or ask for, and once again He has shown me that He can more than provide for my needs. I only need to ask, and wait in faith for Him to work. We are so fortunate.